


Satyriasis

by Messiah



Series: Broken Compass [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sex Addiction, Speech Disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9034580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messiah/pseuds/Messiah
Summary: If only not getting hard was as easy as the mechanics of the arm. It was wires and metal, and as with all things concerning Bucky, Steve knew everything about it. How it worked, what it was made of, which wires led were and what parts needed to be swapped. Things would have been so much easier if putting his fingers inside Bucky’s arm to adjust a stubborn cable was as fun as putting them in Bucky’s ass.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenixfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixfire/gifts).



> A big shout out and thank you to my beta reader [Hyenas](http://13nel.tumblr.com/) who looked over this story in the last minute. My heart goes out to [Leo](http://midnight--rush.tumblr.com/), whose unyielding support keeps me writing.
> 
> Written for the Stucky Thorki Secret Santa 2016 challenge. Please spare the tags a second glance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For you to understand this story, you must know where it all began.

 

* * *

 

The summer right before Steve turned thirteen there lived a cute girl in the flat below theirs. One day she just stood leaning against his doorway with her auburn hair in two thin braids and smiled like Saint Mary herself as she invited him over for waffles. She had made them, all on her own and later, as she licked the maple syrup from her lean fingers, she asked: “Do you want to have sex?”

They air between them was like the one at the doctor’s office: stale with the prospect of disappointment. But she smiled like a shark with that pink mouth of hers and Steve nodded so hard that his head almost came off. They undressed with their backs turned against each other and after, Steve spit into his palm and humped her three times in the ass because she didn’t want to get thick in four months.

But, perhaps it started before that.

 

* * *

 

Steve discovered his dick when he was six. At a country fair on Long Island when his mother’s suitor had showed up with his well-polished Harley Davidson and reeking of cheap aftershave. He kept the engine running as he stepped off, coaxed Sarah onto the bike before he lifted Steve under the armpits and sat him down on the saddle in front of her.

It wasn’t the vibrations running through the worn leather seat that dominated the memory, but the flash of the camera. Even today, Steve wondered where that photo had gone—if anyone had it locked away somewhere without knowing anything about the boy wearing wool pants in the middle of June.

But after that—after Steve had stopped wondering about the whereabouts of that forgotten heirloom, there wouldn’t be a smack hard enough to make him forget that dull vibration from the engine tickling everything sinful in him.

 

* * *

 

Or perhaps it began where every story starts – with sweet and holy James B. Barnes, who Steve first fucked silly on June 6, 1932. After that Monday afternoon in that single bed with the creaky springs, everyone else that was before or came after, simply didn’t matter.

Seventy years apart in their respective ice coffins hadn’t changed that. They were tied by more than just the piece of paper that hung in their living room framed in gold—something Steve almost wanted to call magic had they been eight and still wearing wide shorts with suspenders. As his hands caressed the stiff lines of Bucky’s back, he still thought of that knobbly spine as the axis of his world.

It didn’t matter if Bucky stayed up until four in the goddamn morning, it was day whenever Bucky was awake; night whenever he was curled up in bed drooling into the pillow. It was winter during the days he seemed to be far off and saved on the smiles. But for most of the time, it was summer and Bucky was that happy, bubbling self that reminded Steve so much of the man he would never be again.

“It looks better today,” Steve said as he smoothed a gentle hand over the red, peeling flecks on Bucky’s back.

Bucky hummed into the pillow like he was melting. “No…t, not itchy.”

Steve smiled to himself. “That’s good, champ,” he said with a streak of pride as he reached for the uncorked tube with his left hand and adjusted his stiff cock with the other, tucking it up toward his navel, the broad boxer lining cutting into the underside as he squeezed out a generous amount of salve into his palm.

It made an obscene _slick slick slick_ sound when Steve rubbed it warm between his hands and for those few seconds when nothing else could be heard, all he could think about was how _easy_ it would be to tear off Bucky’s boxers, spread his cheeks and get his tongue in there; make him good and filthy and hot.

Steve’s dick drooled a bead of precome onto his stomach.

He sucked in a tight breath as he reapplied his hands onto Bucky’s back, moist fingertips rubbing into a particular spot on his lower back where the skin was like sandpaper. Raw and ragged and absorbing the salve like a dry sponge.

Beneath him, Bucky breathed in – happily almost – and Steve felt his flanks rise and fall as he rubbed small circles, butterflies, hearts and squares all while alternating from using the whole of his hand to only a few fingers. When he kneaded Bucky’s shoulders, he treated the metal side of him the same, rubbing and stroking and petting with an equal pressure. It was like watching a puzzle solve on its own when the plates shifted and moved.

If only not getting hard was as easy as the mechanics of the arm. It was wires and metal, and as with all things concerning Bucky, Steve knew everything about it. How it worked, what it was made of, which wires led were and what parts needed to be swapped. Things would have been so much easier if putting his fingers inside Bucky’s arm to adjust a stubborn cable was as fun as putting them in Bucky’s ass.

Not that he’d done that in a while, but Steve had a vivid memory of how it felt. Putting his fingers inside him, his tongue, his cock and—there was something magical about Bucky’s ass. Something that derailed every thought in Steve’s brain and brought out that insatiable hunger that only touch could still.

Perhaps it was the curve of it: the perfect apple rounded cheeks that fit beautifully in Steve’s palms, or maybe it was the way Steve imagined how his aching dick would slot perfectly between them and how he could _just_ —

—his fingers grazed the wide band of Bucky’s boxer briefs, gently rubbing back and forth as his heart picked up.

No, no, no.

It was maddening that something so fucking _simple_ and supposed to be unerotic and sexless as rubbing Bucky’s back in lotion could do this to him. It wasn’t even laundry day and if Steve had still been in clothes, it would have been his last pair to be colored white at the groin.

Steve gingerly leaned over him, careful not to box in or weigh down as he whispered, “You’ve fallen asleep on me?”

Bucky’s eyelashes fluttered and he licked those perfectly plush lips and _God fucking dammit_ , Bucky smelled so delicious up close – citrusy. Like a freshly peeled orange and the scent burned in Steve’s nostrils and had his dick _ache_ and he _could_ fucking come like this – with his nose pressed right beneath Bucky’s jaw, inhaling that smell that was so undoubtedly him and fried every wire in Steve’s brain; if he could just press his hips against Bucky’s ass for some friction and—

—goddammit.

No.

Steve pushed himself upright and gingerly climbed off the bed, underwear already shoved halfway down his thighs as he scooted into the bathroom, closing the door with the kind of quiet control he barely could afford as he locked himself inside. He leaned back against it as he closed his hand around his cock and started stroking, fast and messy because Steve could still smell him, could still feel the warmth of Bucky’s thighs inside of his own; could still see that magical piece of ass when he closed his eyes and _yes, yes yes yesyesyes_ —

—Steve came hard over his hand, choking for air like a dying man.

He tipped his head back as he shuddered, the spasms of his orgasm wracking through his already taut body and it felt good, so fucking good.

Perhaps too good.

Steve opened his eyes and saw himself in the mirror above the sink; the flush on his chest, the way his nostrils flared by each breath and how he truly looked like something the cat dragged in with the way his boxers sat askew on his thighs and with the spunk on his hand.

It took everything and then some to push himself away from the door. He washed his hands, pulled up his boxers and left the bathroom with a new sense of calm that lasted the whole ten steps to the bed and for him to creep under the covers before his dick sprung into life again at the whiff of Bucky’s sweet perfume.

 

* * *

 

But that was the future and not how it was after it began.

What Steve had with Bucky – that hadn’t clicked right away. Because despite being two peas in a pod, matched by both God and faith alike, they didn’t go steady back in 1932 because they were young; because Bucky was sweet on the butcher’s daughter and had only slept with Steve so that he could tell her that he knew what the hell he was doing when he took off her panties.

He never got the chance though. Her dad caught them making time in the basement of his shop and for once it had been Steve’s job to set Bucky’s nose. When they had fucked again the next Monday, Steve told himself that he did it out of pity.

But then they did it the next Monday, and the Monday after that, and then it was every goddamn Monday in Bucky’s little single bed until the day they moved into their own space. After that, Steve fucked Bucky every day.

And in between fucking Bucky and everyone else – the new mom in the apartment below theirs, the old school lady twice his age, the occasional whore – Steve didn’t realize that his earth no longer spun around the sun, but around Bucky.

For as lovely and sweet things were between them, they weren’t exclusive, never breathed a word about whatever they had together. Things were just allowed to unfold into what it became as they crossed bridge after bridge blind and—

—it wasn’t that Bucky wasn’t enough. Because he was. When Steve fucked him it felt like the world was at peace and the birds finally chirped and their black and white world had been colored in. Pleasure became something else that wasn’t just the pressure in his balls relieving or that insatiable hunger getting its fill, but it also made his heart beat faster for a reason other than just exertion.

The thing was that Bucky always chased someone else. The cornershop girl, the milkman's daughter, the girls at the bars.

And that was fine, because for as long as Steve could fuck someone else as well, he didn’t think of how he felt.

But then the war came and with it, Bucky’s deployment.

“I need to tell you something before I leave.”

“Shoot,” Steve said as he wiped the towel over the plate, only looking up when Bucky didn’t say anything and saw how he looked like… like he was about to tell Steve that he’d robbed a bank and buried the money on Long Island or something.

Bucky looked away as he tapped the box of cigarettes against the table. “I don’t want us to do what we’ve doing.”

Steve’s fragile heart took a leap out of his chest. If he hadn’t put down the plate a second before, he would have dropped it. It wasn’t about money or a girl getting knocked up or a bar fight gone horribly wrong, it was about—

—love.

“You know, be with others,” Bucky clarified and he wasn’t kidding, Steve could see that he was stone cold serious. “I don’t care what everyone else says or thinks, I–I just fucking love you,” Bucky said and even smiled a little at the end as he looked up at Steve.

Steve who had never been good with words, he had enough scars and recent bruises to testify to that because the only thing that escaped his lips was a toneless: “You’ll get lonely over there.”

The world went quiet and for a long, long while all they did was to stare at each other.

In the end, it was Bucky who moved first as he got up, breathed in the biggest breath of air that puffed up his chest before his lips curled into a bitter smile. “Forget that I said something, alright?”

 

* * *

 

They had married on a whim.

Thirty-six hours after the court had ruled Bucky not guilty on seventy years’ worth of charges, they had stood before the judge and officially ruined the image of masculinity surrounding the mantle of Captain America. Not that Steve had been too worried about the hate – it was the future, people were tolerant and frankly, there had been other things that fed his anxiety.

Like marrying Bucky who had absolutely no memory of who he was.

And yet, it had been he who had popped the question. He hadn’t gone down on one knee or brought out a ring, but stuttered out the question outside the courthouse, shifting his weight from one foot to the next and explained that he had this _feeling_ that they belonged together. He hadn’t even looked at Steve when he said it.

In hindsight, it was heartbreaking. That the only thing Bucky knew after being raked over the coals for more than a year; picked apart by both doctors and judges and juries alike, was that he wanted to be with Steve.

And shamefully, Steve hadn’t thought about that. Hadn’t thought about how they would grow old together, that they would bind themselves together by law on only what had blossomed during the weekly meetings in jail and during court days.

Because when Bucky had proposed, Steve had thought about sex.

About pushing Bucky down in the nearest bed and pick up where they had left off seventy years ago. One hundred and sixty days later after their sparse ceremony, and Steve was still waiting for that. Consummating, as the dinosaurs called it.

They were like a Las Vegas couple: getting hitched first, getting to know each other later. But at least the love was there, sprouting like a seed in moist soil. Even months after the trial, they were still knee weak; still mending their sails and settling into their new life together where Steve had lost a friend, but gained someone far more precious in turn.

Months of this – coming home to the clack and clang of cutlery from the kitchen, the smell of cooked food teasing his stomach into a rumble – and it still warmed his heart. Still had him smirking as he chucked off his shoes and hung off his coat before he walked to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to lean against the frame as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“I got a call from the neighbors about smoke coming out the windows,” Steve said with that long-lasting smirk as his eyes roamed over Bucky by the stove, frying something that at least didn’t smell like a piece of coal.

Bucky glanced up at him with a crabby look to his face, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Your—you are…” he began, words coming out slow and uncertain, not quite matching the hard demeanor he put on, “... mean.”  

Steve snorted as he entered the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” he said and leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek, his left hand coming up to rest on the small of his back. “It smells delicious.”

“Know… _ing_ … you…” Bucky squinted at him, “you… probably had—have… the pizzeria on… speed dial.”

Steve raised his eyebrows with the shrug and smiled like a fool he was. “Can you blame me?”

Bucky swatted him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ ,” Steve chuckled as he raised his hands in surrender to cover his face and, when he was confident Bucky wouldn’t go in for a second blow, Steve stood and tamed his grin. “It actually looks edible today.”

Bucky huffed, unimpressed. “You can eat… pizza.”

“No no no,” Steve smirked, “I can’t let you get food poisoning on your own.”

Bucky socked him in the stomach. It was more the surprise than the blow that had Steve doubled over, the smirk breaking out into a heartfelt laugh.

“мудак,” Bucky mumbled. “Go… go and s–set the... the…” He waved the spatula towards the table and Steve willingly went, glancing back at Bucky whenever he could. When the table was set, he retook his place next to him by the stove.

“Are you… still… stupid?” Bucky asked and Steve was pretty sure he meant _mean_ , but the outcome was better. For as crippling and disabling Bucky’s speech impairment was, it had played a vital role in court and in the end, for the verdict.

But that didn’t stop Steve from being angry, because whatever HYDRA did to him had happened during the month  after everything that had gone down at Triskelion, when Steve had searched high and low for Bucky, only to pick him up like a stray cat in an alley – wounded and dirty and so, so lost that it broke Steve’s heart.

It was manageable though, and it was getting better. Bucky had help, a strict therapist that helped him with the fluency he had lost. Aphasia, they called it and Steve tried his best not to talk him down, to promote conversation rather than asking yes and no questions or pointing out whenever he said the wrong word or mixed up the tense.

Steve shook his head in reply, biting his lips to contain that sheepish grin.

The hard lines on Bucky’s face softened. “How was… your day?” he asked as he stirred in the pan. From the looks of it, it looked like spring rolls.

“Slow,” Steve said as he leaned against the counter, hooking a restless finger in Bucky’s belt loop and pulled up his trousers half an inch, where they were supposed to sit on his hips and not halfway down his ass. “I missed you.”

“You always,” Bucky said and there was that twitch in the corner of his mouth again, the smile coming on slow, “do.”

“Hard not to,” Steve said, finger coming loose from the belt loop and Bucky’s trousers slid down again. “What have you done today?”

Bucky breathed in, bracing almost. “I…” He licked his lips, eyebrows crawling together, “therapy with… doctor Langberg… at nine o’clock,” he breathed out hard through his nose as his gaze flickered from Steve and to the pan repeatedly, “then I… meet— _met_ Sam after for coffee at… home. Miss Fraser… I met with her... after. And the… sofa—”

“—has the couch finally arrived?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve pushed himself from the counter, smoothed a hand over Bucky’s back as he passed him to the living room and where they had previously had cushions on the floor now stood their new couch in a mottled beige color.

The plastic still left crinkled loudly as he plonked down on it. He looked up at Bucky in the doorway.

“It’s stiffer than I remember,” Steve said with a frown and leaned back with a little more force as to test the softness of the back pillows, “and smaller.”

“Have you… changed your…” Bucky came over and sat down next to Steve, close enough for their knees to touch, but not quite.

“No, I mean—” Steve smoothed a hand over the plastic, looking at the fabric, “—we’ve waited for so long that I’d almost forgotten how it looked like.”

Bucky hummed a little as he gazed over the couch.

“Do you like it?” Steve asked.

Bucky hummed again and this time, he didn’t sound that interested.

Steve arched a brow. “You’re not very convincing.”

“I like it… if you like it,” Bucky hashed out as he met Steve’s gaze.

Steve’s quirked brow turned into two, his mouth curving a little. “Is that code for that you want to return it?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. “No?” he said in a way that didn’t sell his case.

Steve blew out an amused breath and let an arm come around Bucky’s shoulders. “What is it you don’t like about it?”

“Small,” Bucky said and shrugged.

Steve nodded and looked around the sparsely decorated room. The couch wasn’t really small, but in comparison to their humongous and, momentarily echoing living room, it was small. They had a pile of books by the cage for the two bunnies they were currently fostering; a television, and their marriage certificate on the wall, but other than that, it was empty.

“I think we underestimated how big our living room is,” Steve mused.

After the trial, time had been of the essence in finding somewhere they could stay as the tower was a no go. Their real-estate agent found this penthouse in the middle of Manhattan, which was big and expensive and had cost Steve more money that he wanted to admit, but right now – despite the echo – it was worth it. Thanks to the view, it felt like they lived on top of the world.

Bucky smiled in agreement.

“We can always sleep on it,” Steve pulled Bucky in closer and buried his nose in that dark, wild nest of hair as his voice lost an octave, “maybe we should keep the plastic on and just…” In the same fashion as his hand crept up Bucky’s thigh, the thought of fucking Bucky over the thick armrest of their new couch thickened his dick.

Bucky squirmed away. “Dinner,” he mumbled as he got up.

 

* * *

 

Here was the thing, whoever thought that Captain America was the male replica of Virgin Mary hadn’t checked through the apps on the guy’s phone. Before Bucky came back, Steve had pulled on all kinds of strings to feel good again and with the future being so open, so sexual as it was, it had been easy to shovel load after load into that hole in his heart without ever listening for the things to hit ground.

The first person he fucked after coming out from the ice was a nurse. After Fury’s bomb and his own grand escape into Time Square, Steve had briefly returned into the role of lab rat. Some x-rays there, some blood drawn here – that kind of stuff and it wasn’t like he’d stopped caring about what they did to him, it was more of a case of not minding.

But this nurse – short, hips like a Greek goddess, wavy hair a pale auburn to match the drapes, and there’d been sparks flying in the air quicker than Steve could put on his best smile. But maybe that was because she walked into his room unannounced and caught him in nothing but a towel.

She wasn’t great, but at least she smelled good. As they did it like an old, married couple in that sterile smelling bed with the foam mattress, Steve never looked up from where he buried his face against her the crook of her neck, breathing in the sickly-sweet smell of vanilla.

They’d met up a few times afterwards, Steve had even gone through the tedious process of buying her coffee before taking her home, but that was only because he hadn’t used a condom during their first time. After ensuring that he hadn’t created an eighteen-year-old long commitment, they had parted ways – as friends, of course. Steve had even thanked her for their time, because while she hadn’t been great in bed, he’d still enjoyed her company outside of it.

But for as cute and funny and comforting as she’d been, Steve couldn’t for the life of him remember her name. Because after her, there had been a long string of Adams and Amys and Olivias and Johns – nothing but faceless numbers in his phone they day after.

It had been easy to keep that life secret, or at least, so he’d thought. In hindsight, Steve hoped that whatever poor guy that had listened in on him fucking a new stranger every night hadn’t lost all hope in humanity. That, and that it made sense why Agent Carter had denied him that coffee. But if she’d said yes in some alternative reality to theirs, Steve would have fucked her.

But, for all the sex he had, it wasn’t really about the orgasm.

If it was, Steve would have wrung himself dry to the point that he would look his actual age and be fully satisfied with sitting with just his arm slung around Bucky’s shoulders as they watched the latest episode of Game of Thrones.

Of course, the orgasm was still important, still one of the highlights of actually having sex, but beneath that hunger was the desire of being close. It was about touch and to be touched in the most intimate way possible. Touching anyone wasn’t the same as touching someone; fucking for love wasn’t the same thing as fucking for pleasure and for Steve, they had always been two separate entities.

Except for when it came to Bucky.

Given how old their world was and how many that had walked on it before them, it felt like it was more than just chance that blessed them to experience it together. They had escaped death, only to be reunited in a time when neither of them fit in and for as long as they had each other, it was fine for them to be two old dinosaurs. What he hadn’t realized back when they were young and stupid, he knew now and there weren’t enough words to describe the respect Steve had for him. Bucky, who had suffered a fate worse than death; Bucky, who—

—frowned at him like he’d just passed gas.

“What?” Steve asked, perking up.

“Watch th—the movie,” Bucky muttered as he turned to look at the TV again, “I can see you… staring… in the corner…” he pointed to his eye closest to Steve.

“Sorry,” Steve said and made an honest attempt to watch the ongoing drama for about three seconds before his head turned like clockwork toward Bucky again. Peeling skin and dry spots be damned, he was beautiful with his long, dark lashes and high cheekbones.

Sometimes they kissed like they had all the time in the world. Not making out, or dry humping, or touching anywhere below the shoulders, just kissing.

In their sexless relationship, it was everything to Steve and if he wasn’t completely off track, he was confident that Bucky liked it, too. The innocent touching, the breathing in when the other breathed out, the odd taste of mint and fennel toothpaste.

Steve pressed himself closer to Bucky’s side and as he turned to look at the TV again, he had every intention to focus, but then he saw something that he simply couldn’t unsee.

In the open pet cage beneath the wall hung TV, the bunnies were humping. It wasn't that Steve wanted to see it, but it was right there and he was sure as hell that Bucky saw it, too.

“The bunnies are asserting dominance,” Steve whispered, childishly amused, because that was apparently what that behavior meant after a quick internet search the first time he’d seen it.

Bucky snorted and shook his head, but said nothing.

“How can you look at it and not laugh?” Steve asked, the laugh just sipping out of him.

Bucky pushed himself up from the couch with an exaggerated sigh, walked over to the cage and folded down the blanket they kept over it and damn, didn’t his ass look good in those pale jeans. “Better?” he asked as he came walking back.

“You don’t want to walk back and forth again?” Steve smirked.

Bucky rolled his eyes at him as he laid down on the couch instead, propping up his feet in Steve’s lap; his heel accidentally nudging Steve’s crotch and—it wasn’t painful. The touch was feather light, a mere brush over his half-hard cock but then Bucky pressed _down_ the fraction of an inch, just as if he had to make sure.

Steve slowly turned to look at him. “I don’t have a foot fetish,” he deadpanned.

Bucky gave him the same pointed look as when he hadn’t done the dishes and everything in Steve cracked into one big, bustling laugh. Bucky laughed, too and it was genuine, Steve could tell by just looking at him: how he was unguarded, glowing stronger than a diamond, acting like everything for the last seventy years hadn’t happened.

“It reacts to beautiful people, I can’t help it.” Steve dragged a finger beneath his eye, wiping away an imaginary tear as he looked down at Bucky all red cheeked and grinning.

For a moment that seemed nothing but magic, all they did was to smile at each other.

It was damn cliché, but Steve never thought he could love someone so much.

For as much as he enjoyed giving massages of any kinds, he wanted to be close and as with all things Bucky, Steve couldn’t stop himself the moment his smile turned rakish.

“What are—”

“—move a little—”

“— _doing_ —”

“—move _more—_ ”

“—big ape,” Bucky grunted when Steve finally settled behind him in their small couch. “You paused—the…”

Steve leaned forward, his clothed dick pressed against Bucky’s butt as he scrambled for the remote lodged between him and the backrest. “There, princess,” he said when he found what he was looking for and slung an arm over Bucky’s torso, handing him the remote and embracing him all together.

Bucky held up the remote and stared at with such intent that Steve figured that he either wanted to pause or rewind. “You’re holding it upside down,” he remarked with a shit eating smile.

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered, clearly not as amused as Steve when he flipped the remote in his hand and finally, after several seconds of intense button scouting, pushed rewind.

When Bucky played the episode again, Steve still had no idea what was happening, but the ladies on the show sure wore some saucy dresses. But it wasn’t their cleavages that sent Steve’s dick pulsating, but Bucky. It was the feel of him, the solid press of his body against Steve’s and the way he smelled like freshly pressed juice in the summer.

Steve snuggled closer, buried his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and kissed the naked skin there, causing Bucky to shift and raise his shoulders, just like he always did when it tickled. He peppered him with kisses until Bucky squirmed back at him with his shoulders up by his ears, giggling and providing that accidental stimulation against Steve’s dick that brought him to full hardness.

“ _Stop_ ,” Bucky chuckled when Steve sucked a wet spot just below his ear and it felt so fucking _good_ that he couldn’t stop himself from gently rolling his hips against Bucky’s ass.

And then Bucky pushed back, and it wasn’t much –  it shouldn’t be much, but Steve felt everything stir in him because this was a response, a bodily nod that Steve had been starving for for _months_. All the sexual innuendos, his red eared attempts at dirty talk; everything had been hooks, hoping that Bucky would one day bite and now that he finally fucking did, Steve didn’t know what to make of it.

They hadn’t talked about why they hadn’t had sex. It wasn’t that Steve hadn’t thought about bringing it up, but when he could jerk off in bed next to Bucky who read his nightly chapter without him even batting an eyelash at his direction, that said something.

But, Bucky wasn’t the guy he was seventy years ago, and Steve guessed that all these months of waiting was a way of warming up to each other. They had already rushed into one of the biggest life decisions blind and while Steve wanted nothing more but to charge naked at the nearest bed with him in hand, perhaps it was just the marksman in Bucky waiting for the right time.

And maybe that time was tonight.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat as he smiled against Bucky’s neck, hugging him impossibly tighter as he ground his hips against Bucky’s ass because if there was sex on the horizon, Steve got weaker than his old self.

The moment he stopped sucking kisses on Bucky’s throat, the playful giddiness disappeared and all that was left was the sound of the TV going in the background, the whisper of their jeans rubbing together with such friction that they could probably make a fire, and their hard breathing.

“Do you feel that?” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s neck and felt his own cheeks heat, but it wasn’t worse than the warmth collecting at his dick. “That’s all for you, don’t you want it?”

Bucky canted his hips back at him, breathing hard through his nose and fuck yes, Steve was going fucking crazy humping that perfect piece of ass, upping up the pressure and speed, desperate for the friction, high on the idea of how it would feel to actually ram his cock into Bucky and fuck, fuck, fuck **_fuck_**.

Steve creamed his pants with a strangled groan, toes curling and all.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Shit.

Steve hugged the life out of him as he panted against his neck, all the tension dripping straight out of him. In front of him, Bucky petted his forearm.

“You…” Bucky mumbled, words coming off a bit Russian, “ ...do laundry… tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Steve said, brain all mushed to pieces, tongue a lead weight in his mouth and he was already moving his hand south, “do you—”

Bucky’s fingers wrapped around his arm, stilling him as he shook his head.

Steve blinked.

On screen, someone just lost their head.

 

* * *

 

“Why don’t we have sex?” Steve asked from where he sat with his feet propped up on their new coffee table, socks mismatched and having sunk so deep into the couch it looked like it had swallowed him whole. “I mean,” his lips stretched into a wary line, his eyes softening, “yesterday was the first time you… reacted to what I said.”

Bucky broke the twig in half. It wasn’t a violent noise that burst whatever tension that pulled between them, but the suddenness of it still had Steve’s heart pound a little faster.

Yesterday had been weird. For Steve at least, who had both felt oddly aroused and ashamed for the majority of the night. He had fallen asleep thinking about it and if he hadn’t overslept, he probably would have woken up doing the same thing. Bucky had been calm though, amused even as Steve had left that morning with a sandwich in his mouth and shirt buttoned askew.

Things had been normal when he got home; everything had been like it always was, until now.

Bucky looked up at Steve and then down again the moment when Pumpkin nabbed at the maple twigs in his hand, front paws propped up on his thigh to reach and he flashed a small smile at her, humming as he ran his cold hand over her ginger fur.

When they had signed up as fosters three months ago, Steve had expected that they would get to home a dog. Maybe a cat, but instead they got two Mini Lops named Pumpkin and Spice. People keeping rabbits as pets was just another thing about the future that didn’t really make any sense, and while Steve still thought of them as something they could eat if the world ended tomorrow, he liked that they held Bucky company when he wasn’t there. However, Steve would never get used to the hay being everywhere, but at least they were litter trained.

“We can,” Bucky finally said like it wasn’t a big deal; said it so calm and unbothered like these months of celibacy hadn’t existed. Like yesterday hadn’t been anything weird at all.

Steve’s heart plunged down to his groin. “We can?” he asked and tried not to sound too eager as he spied for anything that hinted about a poor joke or miss of communication. Because that happened. Bucky saying that he wanted spaghetti but in reality wanted macaroni. It wasn’t the same thing.

But Bucky turned his head toward him and smiled that carefully muted smile that said it all, shrugging in a way that said _why not_.

“Really? I mean—do you want to have sex?”

Bucky opened his mouth, paused like he wasn’t sure on what to say and looked away, down at the bunny still gnawing away on the twig. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “but—but we should… we should u—”

“—use protection?” Steve said, aiming for cool but with the way it came out almost breathless sounding, he probably just sounded constipated.

Bucky hummed.

“Sure—yeah, I,” Steve pushed himself up from the couch, zeroing the distance between them and got down to his knees next to Bucky so fast that he was practically in his face. “I… might have a pack home if you want to do it sometimes soon—maybe uh,” he sat a bit straighter, smiled a bit wider, “now?”

Bucky looked at him with an expression Steve couldn’t fully decipher. He didn’t look sad or unhappy or anxious, but at the same time he wasn’t feverish with longing, engaging or thrilled. He just smiled that smile that didn’t show his teeth; the smile he gave to the nurses at the hospital or the cashiers at the supermarket.

“Okay,” Bucky finally said with a nod for emphasis.

Steve looked at Bucky’s lips before he looked him in the eye. “Okay,” he said after a moment’s delay.

Bucky let the amused wrinkle on his forehead drip onto the word. “Okay.”

Steve breathed in a shaky breath, the smile on his face having exploded. “Okay?”

“Bedroom,” Bucky cocked his head to the side and it was as if the shift affected his smile, “okay?”

“Very okay.”

Steve waited for Bucky to move first or more accurately – waited for Bucky to ask him do the laundry for being silly enough to believe the joke. But then he watched as Bucky carefully nudged Pumpkin away from his lap and got up, and then it felt real.

He stared as Bucky walked – actually _walked_ – toward their bedroom.

Steve flew up the floor and tailed him like a shadow.

It was like they had agreed to walk to the park. Not that Steve thought Bucky of a virgin reborn, but since this would be their first time in such a long time, there was a rational yet distant cell in his brain that hoisted the question mark high enough for him to stop and stare. As he stood in the doorway he watched Bucky undress with the same clinical intent as if he was about to hop into the shower, gaze low as he worked the buttons of his blue checkered shirt.

“Wait,” Steve said as he was already coming over, hands reaching for the hem of Bucky’s shirt. “Let me.”

Bucky lowered his hands, eyes almost surprised as he looked up at Steve. “Okay,” he whispered.

Without ever breaking eye contact, Steve worked the first button loose as he listened to the hard, quick thuds of Bucky’s heart. It wasn’t until the last button slipped free from its noose that Steve leaned in and kissed him like it was their first in years.

He idly ran his hands up Bucky’s sides, over his stomach and chest and all the way up to his shoulders where he gently nudged off the shirt. Bucky tangled himself free from the cuffs, his hands coming up to tug on Steve’s shirt. He leaned back, broke their kiss, and pulled the shirt over his head before it was all hands-on deck again.

He cupped Bucky’s cheeks when he kissed him again, slower this time as he slid one hand back to his neck and up through his thick hair, feeling the thin lines of scars where the hair didn’t grow and the skin was smooth like silk.

Like fighting, this was something he could do all day. To kiss gently; to touch carefully; to relearn all the ways to make Bucky twitch and turn beneath his hands. He wasn’t even grinding his hips against Bucky’s; wasn’t groping his ass or kissing him hard, but he was already ninety percent ready to blow his load.

There was something about Bucky that erased everything sane out of him, something that peeled away everything fleeting and unnecessary, only to leave behind the most basic instincts. As Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s right shoulder, he thought maybe it was the heat of it. The impossible warmth pooling beneath that dry skin – or when he kissed that spot beneath the hinge of Bucky’s jaw and breathed in the warm smell of his aftershave, maybe that was it.

Perhaps it was the air he breathed out, the small moan puffing out of him like a whine when Steve sucked a red spot on the side of his neck, his shoulders coming up like they always did.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter right now as Steve made quick work of Bucky’s belt, never once taking his mouth off him as he unbuttoned Bucky’s jeans, the fly zipping down on its own the moment he shoved his hand down Bucky’s underwear.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, tensing.

“Nervous?” Steve asked as he gently wrapped his hand around Bucky’s soft cock.

“No,” Bucky said quickly, frowning even.

Steve raised a brow and smiled knowingly.

A pink hue settled on the apples of Bucky’s cheeks. “… yes.”

Steve nudged his chin up, kissed the tip of his nose and watched the timid smile flourish on Bucky’s face.

“Don’t be,” he said, his gentle smile turning hungry as he put his lips next to Bucky’s ear, “You know what I want to do with you?”

Bucky shook his head like he honestly had no clue.

“I want to fuck you.”

Bucky nodded once, and then again. “O— _okay_ , d-d-do you…”

“Yeah,” Steve grinned, “but let’s warm up first,” and pushed Bucky down into their bed, yanked off his pants and underwear in one go.

Steve had seen him naked before. They were married, they changed every morning in the same room, brushed their teeth together in front of the bathroom mirror and sometimes, they were nude when they did that. Not intentionally of course, but when it was late at night and after a long day, they were dudes being dudes and if Bucky stood there brushing his teeth with his damn mint toothpaste in nothing but a towel, it was in Steve’s nature to proclaim a towel whipping war.

He stepped out of his own jeans and boxers before he got down to his knees between Bucky’s, placing his hands on Bucky’s thighs and gently kneaded the muscles there, relishing in the feel of the tension ripping through.

Bucky looked so damn innocent with his wide eyes and mouth open, how he’d propped himself up on his hands and looked down at Steve like he didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Relax a little,” Steve mumbled as he leaned in, lips just brushing the dry skin on the inside of Bucky’s thigh. “I’m not gonna bite.”

Steve kissed a tight trail toward Bucky’s groin, smile widening little by little until he could finally put his nose by the root of Bucky’s dick and breathe in the musky smell of him. The dark, trimmed hair tickled his nose, had him pant in amusement before he advanced his hands: one gently wrapped around Bucky’s cock, giving him a long, loose stroke all the way to the tip and back, while his other gently came up to cup his balls.

It would be a crime against humanity to not watch him. As amazing it was to both see and feel Bucky’s dick fill in his hand, watching the awe loosen every hard line on his face was something else. Steve stroked him unhurriedly, taking all the time in the world to feel out that cock he hadn’t touched for such a long time.

Needless to say, Bucky had a great dick. Uncut, probably just above average in terms of size and when he was fully erect in Steve’s hand, it curved a little to the right. Just like Steve remembered.

He slowed down on the strokes and instead focused his attention on Bucky’s balls, gently rolling them back and forth with a tenderness he remembered to use from before.

It felt like he’d won the lottery when Bucky shifted beneath his touch and let out that small, strangled _ah_.

Steve didn’t save on the saliva when he kissed alongside Bucky’s dick, listened to the way his ragged breathing excelled and smiled wider than ever before when he finally put his mouth around him. Bucky let out such a loud moan that he couldn’t possibly be from the thirties.

He put his hands on Bucky’s hips, grounding him as he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head in the same unhurried pace as when he’d stroked him. Bucky shifted from the first thrust and Steve felt his hand on his shoulder, aimlessly touching like he didn’t know where to put his hands.

The taste was familiar, but it was more about the way Bucky reacted that ignited everything in Steve. Beneath his touch, Bucky was like a bowstring ready to launch an arrow and everything sinful stirred in Steve as he cherished in the feel of Bucky trying to push up further into his mouth.

Suffering from the same burning impatience as him, Steve pulled off with a wet pop, an obscene string of spit and precome dangling loose between them until Steve ran the back of his hand over his lips. If he wasn’t _this_ close at coming over just how eager Bucky was, he would never have stopped.

“Scoot up,” he grinned and watched the distraught look on Bucky’s face. It took him a moment to follow through.

Steve collected the dusty tube of lube and condoms from the bedside drawer, because what could he say other than he had been optimistic. He crawled onto the bed, climbed on top Bucky with his hands braced on either side of his head and let their dicks rub together in a way that almost stopped his heart from beating. They kissed like they wanted to eat each other up.

It was hard to believe that they were finally going to do it; how it was happening in a way Steve hadn’t imagined at all. Six months too late and they were finally going to consummate the marriage, and how crazy wasn’t that?

“Spread your legs a little,” Steve mumbled against his lips and felt Bucky shift underneath him, “stroke yourself.”

And Bucky did it with his _left_ hand.

For a whole five seconds, Steve thought he was about to come as he watched how Bucky worked that gleaming fist over his perfect cock. It was something new, something Steve didn’t know about him and he wondered if that was something Bucky did whenever he was alone, jerking off with that cool looking hand because that would make sense. That he was a little shy and got off when Steve wasn’t home, because not once during their months living together, he’d never seen Bucky fiddle beneath the duvet next to him.

Or, perhaps it was all the medicine that was to blame, which would explain the cold start.

Almost dizzy from arousal, Steve pushed himself up and sat back on his knees before he grabbed the tube of lube, flicking open the lid and spared no expense as he squeezed out a big amount into his palm. Like he did whenever he massaged Bucky’s back, he first rubbed his hands together before he reluctantly took over for Bucky and put his lubed up hand around his cock. He stroked him quicker this time, grip more determined and he watched how Bucky’s mouth fell open as he tipped his head back against the pillows.

Steve felt him tense the moment he put his fingers against his pucker, gently rubbing them around Bucky’s hole before he finally pushed in one finger into that tight heat he had spent hours—days dreaming of.

Bucky gasped.

“Relax, nothing is going up your ass if you keep tensing like this,” Steve chuckled as he slowly pulled out his finger to the last knuckle and pushed it all the way back in again. He listened to Bucky breathe in deeply and soon enough, Steve eased a second finger into him, spreading the two, fucking them in and out with in the same rhythm as he moved his fist up and down Bucky’s cock.

“You feel so good,” Steve whispered, all husky and spellbound, “you should feel yourself – c’mon, put your fingers down there.”

Bucky used his right hand this time, which perhaps was for the better as the touch of his fingers against Steve’s was enough to almost drive him mad with lust. His dick ached at the sight of Bucky slipping a finger inside himself alongside Steve’s without even hesitating and fuck, fuck, fuck, _why_ hadn’t they done this earlier?

Steve pulled away, dried his hands on the sheets as he reached for the condoms, making quick work of the foil wrap and rolled one on. He leaned back over Bucky, bracing on his hands as he locked their lips together, kissing him like he couldn’t wait any longer because frankly, he couldn’t.

“How about I lean back and let you take over?” Steve mumbled against his lips, smiling.

Bucky pursed his brows, didn’t look entirely sure but said, “Okay,” and kissed Steve again before he could suggest something else. They rolled over with the kind of grace that was non existent.  Steve laughed a little at their flurry of limbs before Bucky straddled his hips properly, body hoisted up high and with one hand placed on Steve’s chest for balance.

“Get the lube,” Steve said and watched how Bucky did, uncapping the tube and squeezed out plenty in his right palm. He was grateful that Bucky didn’t bother heating it up, because the cold chill was enough to drag him down a notch. Bucky jerked him once, twice and then Steve shuddered as he felt the the dip between Bucky’s ass because this was it, this was really it and—

—Steve laughed. A small, strained sound that passed his lips when his dick went up along Bucky’s crack, instead of inside of him.

Bucky flashed a smile, face looking more determined as he renewed his grip on Steve’s cock, realigned it and then Steve’s smile dissolved into a look of wonder when Bucky finally eased himself down on his cock. It was an agonizing slow push, the heat of him engulfing and amazing and Steve’s hands came up to squeeze Bucky’s hips, struggling against the desire to impale him fully.

When the head of his dick slid inside, Bucky was already breathing hard through his nose and Steve couldn’t stop staring at how Bucky took his cock little by little, gaze only flickering up briefly to watch the hard lines on Bucky’s face.

He was halfway down Steve’s dick when stopped and Steve looked up to see how he was breathing with his mouth wide open, eyes closed and his hands closed into fists where they were braced against Steve’s chest. Steve strokes his sides, over the hard planes of his stomach and palmed his flagging dick.

Bucky gently rolled his hips, and Steve tipped his head back at the feeling because _fuck him_ , that felt good. Better than good and for those first, few shallow thrusts, Steve just let go.

Gaining confidence, Bucky crammed down onto his cock a little deeper, a little harder by each thrust and yes, yes, yes Steve was gonna come already and there was nothing he could do but to—

—they both gasped when Bucky pulled out too far, Steve’s dick slipping out and fuck, that wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“No—no, let me,” Steve breathed as he was already flipping them over, “sorry, I just have to,” and hiked one of Bucky’s legs over his shoulder before he lined himself up and shoved all the way in in one long, smooth stroke.

Bucky went tight like everything in him just froze over, eyes squeezed shut and he moaned loudly. Steve leaned down and kissed him, already pulling out to push back in, feeding the entire length of his cock into Bucky’s ass.

“Touch yourself,” Steve breathed against his neck and watched how Bucky started to stroke himself with the same enthusiasm as when he did the laundry with; still frowning with closed eyes as he worked a loose fist over his soft cock.

Beneath him, Bucky looked fantastic. There wasn’t a power mighty enough in this world to stop him as Steve shoved into him again and again and again, tight balls slapping against Bucky’s ass by every thrust and fuck, it was everything he remembered and more, it was _better,_ a thousand times better as Bucky felt tighter than ever before and _fuck yes_ —

—Steve’s toes curled as he let out a high moan because he was coming, shuddering with it on the final thrust and yes, yes _yesyesyes_ , dick going off harder than it had in years. His hips slowed into a shallow grind as he rode out the aftershocks, shaking and panting like a heavy weight on top of him when he finally stilled.

They’d done it.

All that daydreaming and fantasising and it had finally happened.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Steve slowly eased off him, pulled out with a tight grimace and collapsed on his side next to Bucky, hand automatically reaching for his limp cock.

Bucky stopped him before got the chance. Steve frowned when he looked up at his face that looked more tired than anything.

“I… Sorry,” Bucky mumbled and the words matched the look at least, “I don’t… I don’t think I can…” he frowned and closed his eyes, “...get it up… again.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, just… nervous,” he said and even managed a small smile when he opened his eyes again. “Next time.”

“You sure?” Steve said, chest and cock both blooming at the idea of a second time while his pride staggered one step back.

“Yeah,” Bucky said a little strained, “d… did you liked… _like_ it?”

Steve scoffed and gestured toward his crotch where the condom was still on his dick, white at the top.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t a big deal, except that it was.

When Steve picked up a cake from the bakery and had the clerk put that game Bucky had mentioned last week in wrapping paper, it felt like he was overdressing for a party. It wasn’t celebrating for breaking new ground, because they had done it before – sure, it was a lifetime ago, but they weren’t virgins trading cards. It was more of a way of acknowledging that they’d reached that level in their relationship Steve had been ready for the moment Bucky came back.

As he stepped inside their apartment, he took off his shoes and jacket, dropped off the cake and the present in the kitchen and spared a second glance at the mountain of dishes in the sink before he walked into the living room. Bucky sat curled up on the couch and from the looks of it, already in pyjamas.

“You’re looking cozy.”

“Hey.”

“I saw the pots in the kitchen,” Steve said as he walked over to the couch, smiling at the displeased face Bucky made, “so I’m guessing we’re eating pizza tonight?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled, sounding defeated and Steve could tell that it wasn’t worth asking what had gone wrong. He sat down next to him, sagging back into the pillows like all the air just went out of him before he turned to look at Bucky, who looked back at him.

“I bought some cake for dessert,” Steve said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Apple pie?”

Steve tipped his head back, chuckling. “First – apple pie is not a cake; second – it’s vanilla with raspberry cream and third, why would I buy a dessert that I know you don’t like?”

“You buy... fennel toothpaste....”

“That’s two completely different things,” Steve pointed out.

“... and you d–don’t buy ment– _mint_ , even when I... say _.”_

“Why buy two tubes when you only have to buy one?”

Bucky ran a hand down his face and shook his head in such defeat that Steve couldn’t help but to laugh. He wasn’t cheap, he just wanted Bucky with him at all times possible and going grocery shopping twice a week on his own wasn’t the definition of fun. So, pretty early on in the game Steve had started to forget half the stuff on the grocery list – if he even remembered to bring it with at all – only to provoke Bucky so that he would one day draw the line.

And it had worked, kind of at least. Whenever Bucky was a day or two away from running out of toothpaste, he tagged along and suffered with Steve alongside multiple choices, long queues and career moms with screaming babies. Self-scanning was still too modern concept for the both of them.

“So…” Steve said after a while of nothing but staring at Bucky, “... yesterday.”

Bucky hummed like he wanted him to go on and Steve panicked for about two agonizing long seconds, because in his mind Bucky would be more interested and… not look at the TV screen.

“You sore today?” was the only thing the only sane thought that escaped through Steve’s mouth. He cringed a little on the inside.

“A little?” Bucky tried, turning toward him with a faint smile that looked more polite than real.

“Was it as you remembered?” For someone who’d spent the majority of his day thinking about how he would approach the subject, this was where he imagined that Bucky would nod like he couldn’t contain himself and spill all the juice beans about how he wanted it to be like back then. But instead Bucky’s face resetted itself into that unreadable neutral that put Steve on the edge. “Because you do remember,” Steve prompted and couldn’t keep his smile, “right?”

“Eh…” Bucky shifted in his seat, gaze dropping to his hands, “... not r–really…”

“You don’t remember having sex,” Steve clarified, because he had to hear it for himself, “like at all.”

“Not like… that,” Bucky said, a little strained.

Within a second’s notice, Steve’s heart was ready to burst out of his chest. So, if they were going to be delicate, yesterday had been a first time of sorts and Steve wanted to sink through the couch, fall through all the levels of their complex and plummet toward the ground because _fuck him_ for not thinking about that.

In between his desperation about plugging Bucky’s ass and not dwindling into the past, he had never thought that Bucky might not remember all those Mondays in his squeaky little bed. They didn’t talk about the old days because Sam had told Steve not to; that overwhelming Bucky when he seemed so unsure of who he was would be like asking to get punched in the face. Instead, Steve had just waited for any kind of hint that Bucky’s memories were coming back.

He mentioned the Giants once, but that was about it and after a year of nothing, Steve had buried the hope that Bucky would start talking about what he did remember from their time in Brooklyn.

“Shit.”

Bucky frowned at him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighed as he pushed himself up from the couch, pumped up and frustrated with himself for not figuring it out. For as unromantic he’d been since waking up from the ice, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it was because it was Bucky. Yesterday was his first exposure to sex and Steve had basically masturbated with his body. “First time,” he scrubbed a hand over his face, “and you didn’t even come.”

Bucky’s frown eased into an embarrassed looking smile. “I still…”

“What? Liked it?”

“Yeah.”

If that was supposed to be the lid for Steve’s burning pot, it didn’t work. He looked down at Bucky, felt even worse when he smiled like _that_ and there was no way in hell they could leave yesterday with a fuck up like that; Steve’s pride wouldn’t allow it. “Get up.”

“What?” Bucky dropped his smile and went absolutely rigid when Steve wrapped his hand around his arm and pulled him up from the couch.

“We’re doing a do–over.”

“No—it’s—”

“Bedroom,” Steve ordered, but couldn’t keep his act straight. “Now.”

 

* * *

 

Steve was used to tuck his dick up by his navel, but now he had reached a new extreme. If it wasn’t something Bucky said, it was something he did. When he tapped his lips with his ring finger after putting on chapstick, Steve thought about how stretched his lips would be around his dick; about how hollow his cheeks would be. When he got out of his jeans at night and changed into his pajama pants, Steve watched the swell of his ass and thought about pushing him down in their big, king-size bed and humping into him like there was no tomorrow.

It didn’t matter how cold the water in the shower was or how boring a meeting was, the sexual temptations were everywhere. Even when Bucky wasn’t there, something as simple as a piece of furniture could ignite the dirtiest of thoughts in Steve.

For example, in the beginning he had been all about his new desk in his new office, about bending Bucky over the polished oak and rut into him like a crazy bull. Then there was the couch. Stiff like concrete, but still better than the floor, which was actual concrete.

When the window guys showed up one day, running their scrapers back and forth on the other side of the thick glass, Steve couldn’t help but to gently knock a knuckle against the glass once they were gone. It was like finding your new favorite song, but instead of raising the hair on his arms, Steve got so hard so fast that he almost got lightheaded.

The idea of Bucky pressed up against the glass with his pants hiked down just enough erased every sensible thought in Steve’s head. He imagined how the cold  glass would go all foggy by Bucky’s quick, ragged breaths; how he would wither and get all knee weak as Steve rammed into him again and again until he came untouched, splattering the pristine glass.

For the sake of sexual science, Steve even leaned against the glass during one long, boring phone call. If he didn’t give his all, it would hold. If not, a two-story drop into the grass below wasn’t a big deal. The pros of being a super soldier.

“Yes, Mr. Senator – I hear you loud and clear,” Steve said, keeping it professional but secretly dying on the inside. His ear felt hot where he kept the phone pressed and he gave the same, monotone hum in acknowledgement just as the door clicked and gently swung open.

Bucky walked inside with a timid smile and for a second, Steve’s humming turned warmer. He pushed himself away from the window, rounded his desk and pulled out the chair for Bucky, all while listening to the senator on the other end of the line.

“No—Tony Stark is no longer a representative of the Avengers,” Steve said and from the moment Bucky parked himself in that very chair Steve had imagined blowing him off in, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, “and while I know his last clashes with the media has sparked quite the controversy, it is still his money that’s controlling the organization, we can’t just—”

Steve had to contain a heavy sigh as his phone went hot again. His hand came to rest on Bucky’s shoulder and gently fingered on the long, dark tresses sticking out from under the white beanie.

Bucky looked up at him with those big, blue eyes and for a second, Steve felt his heartbeat in his dick.

“How about we revise this topic another day, Senator? I think we both want to go home to our families,” he said in an airy way all while he looked Bucky in the eye; the tame smile growing wolfish as he talked on autopilot, promising that he would call that and that secretary to ensure that they met eye to eye next time.

After what felt like an eternity, Steve hung up. He sucked in a breath like he just broke the water surface.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You look good,” Steve remarked casually as he fingered the collar of Bucky’s shirt. Like always, everything polite and authoritarian in him melted in the shine of Bucky’s growing smile. “I like your jeans,” Steve nodded toward them, “was that the ones you ordered online the other day?”

Bucky hummed, gleaming fingers smoothing over a wrinkle in the pant leg. “They are… little big.”

“Everything is big on you, pal,” Steve said gently.

Bucky had lost a lot and a lot of weight in jail. The prison warden called it budgeting and prisoner equality, but Steve called it systematic starvation. If all the other prisoners were hungry on a meager two thousand calorie diet, Steve didn’t want to know how Bucky felt. It had been enough to see how his cheeks had sunk in more and more by every visit Steve had paid him.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled. “Do you wanna… order… pizza before… before we...”

“Well,” Steve began, “first I want to kiss you.”

Bucky breathed out harshly through his nose and his smile shed the nervous stain. He quirked an eyebrow at Steve like he thought him weird. “Okay,” he said with that healthy shine to his lips, like he’d just put on chapstick.

Steve leaned down and kissed him like his life depended on it, hand sliding up to his neck. He loved the scratch of stubble from Bucky’s six o’clock shadow; loved how he could feel the corners of Bucky’s mouth curve up as he rubbed their noses together at the end of the kiss. Not wanting to pull back, Steve kissed the tip of his nose and earned himself a warm laugh from Bucky.

He kissed his cheeks, chin and jaw, and how could he possibly stop after a day like today?

Bucky raised his shoulders and squirmed in that big chair when Steve kissed his throat.  

“You said kiss…” Bucky’s breath was hot on Steve’s skin, “... not eat.”  

Steve chuckled, dick straining against his fly. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, “you taste too good, I think I have to eat you up.”

“Steve—”

“—I wanna fuck you,” Steve breathed as he looked up, thoughts turning to word like they always did when his dick worked harder than his brain, “without a condom.”

Bucky stopped and stared.

Their relationship was almost at peak level, except for that tiny bit of rubber between them whenever they fucked. For such a worldwide product, it sucked – pleasure-wise, of course. Now that they had soon plowed through a big pack in only a fortnight, it felt like the logical next step.

“We should… we should…” Bucky licked his lips, frowning as he continued, “... get tested.”

And—it wasn’t the answer Steve had expected. He thought about what Bucky said; that he didn’t remember sex, to qoute, like that and it was only know Steve thought about what it meant. His first, spontaneous thought was that Bucky had been with women and that wouldn’t be too outlandish, he was just like Steve – diverse in his choices and seventy years was a long time to go dry, even if suspended in cryo sleep.

But it wasn’t like Bucky had chosen that life. In fact, Steve doubted Bucky had had any say at all, which suddenly turned his confession heartbreaking.

“Of course,” Steve said, a bit breathless, “good that at least one of us is thinking.”

Bucky smiled that closed lip smile.

“But… we don’t have to – have sex, I mean.”

Bucky touched his hand and smiled like he was glad that Steve said it, gave him an out. “It’s fine,” he said, and if he’d looked Steve in the eye, he might would have believed him.

 

* * *

 

Just because there were no files or folders that hinted about what Bucky had gone through, it didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Sam had told him that, again and again and again. That he shouldn’t push for an answer because talking about it meant reliving it and sometimes, not talking about it was fine. It didn’t mean that they would leave the chapter open or unfinished, but that they would save it for another day.

And Steve got that, he did and it wasn’t like the not knowing gnawed at him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The small, intricate details of how it could have happened. When and where, by who and if it happened once or twice.

As he watched the nurse sink the needle into Bucky’s arm, he thought about it. Imagined it, even. Someone overpowering Bucky in some dank laboratory, ripping down his pants, pushing into him _dry—_

“—okay?”

Steve jerked in his seat. “What? Oh—yeah, I’m fine,” he replied with a quick smile and saw the dubious look on Bucky’s face. Next to him, the nurse flashed Steve a polite smile before she collected the two filled vials and reminded them that their doctor would probably go through the results next week when Bucky was due again for what was surely the tenth skin analysis. She shook both their hands before she left, wishing them a nice weekend.

“You were…” Bucky said when they were alone, head titled slightly to the side as he rolled down his sleeve, “… staring.”

The chair creaked as Steve sat a little straighter, puffing up his chest as he inhaled. “I got a little lost in my head,” he said as his brittle smile melted into something bigger, but faltered the moment he watched how Bucky’s gaze dropped to his crotch.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and hummed.

“I wasn’t thinking about sex,” Steve insisted and now he was smiling by default. Not exactly hollow, but not sincere either.

“No?” Bucky arched a brow at him, a small smile curling at the left side of his mouth. Weak in the visual department, but enough to soften his voice – enough to melt the ice in Steve’s stomach. Out of all the things Bucky could do beside cooking, reading minds was not his thing. “Can you—you… think about anything… else?”

The first word that popped into Steve’s head was _cars_ and by then that second to prove his point, vanished. Bucky’s knowing smile widened the same way Steve’s heart did.

“Pervert,” Bucky stated.

“I refrain from commenting that statement,” Steve said with his polished Captain America voice as he stood up and handed Bucky his coat and scarf, casually glancing toward the door. “So, do you want to head to the pharmacy before we grab some pizza?”

Bucky hummed as put on his coat and scarf. “More pills…” he muttered.

“Maybe this time, they’ll work. If not…” Steve made a helpless gesture and mellowed his smile. It wasn’t so much about the visual as it was about the itching and while they have found salves that worked miracles, they weren’t the permanent solution they were looking for. The doctors had said that some sun and saltwater could do wonders, but at the same time, there was a reason why Bucky saw three different specialists every day and it wasn’t just a matter of jumping on the next flight to somewhere warm.

“… if not… I’ll look my… age… pretty soon.”

“Well, for as long as you keep up with your anti-age creams I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Steve squealed in laughter as he dodged when Bucky tried to swat him over the cheek like an annoying fly. Obviously butthurt over the comment, it wasn’t until they were out in the fresh air that Bucky let himself link arms with Steve as they walked the last hundred yards to the car. It took them the next forty minutes getting back to Manhattan during rush hour.  

It wasn’t until they were in the pharmacy that Steve thought about it again. When he was lingering in the background while Bucky was up by the counter, spying idly through the shelf for dental hygiene.

Their fight on the highway two years back had been one of Steve’s toughest and not because of the sudden reveal of identity, but because Bucky was strong – ruthless, even. Who would have the guts, the authority, the strength to bend a man like Bucky into submission?

But—perhaps they drugged him.

A sick misery turned Steve’s stomach upside down at the thought. What were muscles worth when the drug was already in your system? It might take a cocktail worthy to take down a flock of elephants, but neither money or resources were a problem in an organization like HYDRA.

It was easy to be angry; to be fucking furious. Not only had they scrambled his brain into something that the media described as _daft_ and _slow_ , but now there were more scars hidden beneath that shell looked so much like his best friend that had gone to war with his too big army hat tipped slightly to the side.

“C’mon, donkey.”

Steve turned on his heel. “You done?”

Bucky hummed as he joined in next to Steve, linking their arms together before they walked back to their car, blending into the bustle of the city. For as loud and enclosing the future was, it was modern and liberating in its own way – people were open, believing more in themselves than a higher power and it was rubbing off on Steve.

If there was a God, he was one sadistic fucker. Bucky had been one of the nicest kids on their street, he knew that a smile would get further than a closed fist; that thinking twice would get you double the mile and what mattered wasn’t the zeros on the bank or the thread count on your sheets, but the people around you. Who were they, what they had done, what you could do for them.

Steve put the key in the ignition and turned to look at Bucky, watching as he took off his gloves to scratch the back of his hand. The skin was chapped and angry.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Steve asked after a beat of silence, the words just slipping out.

“What?”

Steve pursed his lips, eyebrows coming together. “If anything happened to you when you were—”

“—I’m okay,” Bucky cut off as he squared his shoulders and all Steve heard was the beating of Bucky’s heart. The hard, upset thuds like it wasn’t okay at all.

“I just don’t want to push you to anything, I can always—”

Bucky shook his head. “I want to.”

Steve softened a little, even managed a small smile. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding for emphasis.

“Okay,” Steve concluded.

“Okay,” Bucky said.

“Okay.”

Bucky frowned, but somehow there was still a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Weirdo,” he said, sounding awfully Russian.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said and matched his smile with his words.

They had a marriage built on routines and habits, they weren’t adventurous or innovative with how they spent their evenings together, but they trusted each other. They talked about anything from how bad they had the pee shivers to where they saw themselves in ten years and if Bucky said that he was okay, then who was Steve to doubt that? Whatever that had happened to Bucky, he was fine now and it wasn’t Steve’s intention to go looking for old bruising.

“Stop staring.”

Steve snorted. “Why don’t you want me to look at you?”

“You freeze and you... _stare_ ,” Bucky argued. “It’s not looking.”

“I was just thinking about asking if you wanted to fuck me tonight.”

Bucky’s eyebrows reached for his hairline and he looked away, through the front windshield. “I think… I think—I think you—you should… do—”

“—the fucking?” Steve finished and tried his best to not sound too amused. There was still some innocence left in him and it was entertaining to say the least to listen to him stumble over his words whenever Steve wanted to talk sex.

Bucky looked at him from the corner of his eye and nodded curtly.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Steve leaned over the handbrake, put his lips to Bucky’s ear and whispered, “Can I tie you up the next time?”

Bucky leaned back against the door, obviously affronted as he offered his signature stare: a look so pointy that that Steve could probably die from it had the laws of physics worked a little different. “Pervert,” Bucky accused, but it was the way it looked like he suppressed a smile that sent Steve chuckling.

 

* * *

 

It was stupid, but it felt like a stone came off Steve’s shoulders when the test came back negative.

 

* * *

 

Steve knew he was lucky.

For the first time since the ice, it finally felt like the puzzle was complete. When he had Bucky on his front in their big, soft bed; dark hair tangled and wild and with two pillows propping up his hips for just the right angle, it felt like someone had fucking glued the puzzle pieces together.

And he loved it. Loved the smell of Bucky’s skin as he leaned over him and buried his face in the crook of his neck; loved the heat radiating from his skin and the taste of salt as he kissed the hard cord on the side of Bucky’s throat; loved the small, throaty moans as he kept Bucky split on his cock.

Bucky who was impossible tight and warm and who winced into the sheets like he couldn’t take it any longer; who had his hands tied behind his back with only discipline holding the rope in once piece. His mixed hands pressing flat like two polar points beneath Steve’s navel, a tension that intensified every time Steve rolled his hips forward.

Steve sucked a piece of Bucky’s skin beneath his lips, teeth nibbling the warm flesh and felt the vibrations traveling through as Bucky moaned into the mattress.

“You feel so damn good,” Steve breathed, warm words bouncing back at him as he kissed Bucky under the jaw, up on the side of his cheek. “Why the hell did we wait for this, huh?” he asked, throaty and low and couldn’t keep the small laugh from tinting his voice.

Steve sat back on his knees, cock pulling out halfway and Bucky exhaled like he lost his breath. Steve took a handful of Bucky’s ass in either hand, parted his cheeks and watched how Bucky swallowed him whole and by now, there wasn’t a single rational thought in Steve’s head. He couldn’t resist the urge to pull back until there was only his cockhead keeping Bucky open, the tight muscles of his ass biting down just beneath the crown of Steve’s dick and damn – it both looked like and felt like the best goddamn magic trick in the world when Steve shoved his hips forward, snapping back fully into that velvet, hot tightness.

If he hadn’t had an obligation to the world: he would stay all day in bed, plowing through Bucky like his life depended on it because right now it felt like his heart might explode if someone tried to stop him. Just pulling out to push back in felt wrong and it was impossible to not fuck faster; to pull out quicker and slam home harder with the heat of his orgasm spreading like liquid gold in his limbs.

Steve humped into him hard, balls drawn up and so impossible tight that he could feel his own heartbeat vibrating through his cock. He shuddered into the trust, a drop of sweat slid from his forehead and landed between Bucky’s shoulder blades where the skin was glowing in the orange light from their bedside lamp. Steve leaned forward and mouthed the ridge of his spine and felt how Bucky shoved his hips forward, down into the pillows every time Steve speared his cock into him and it was fucking maddening how tight and warm and by everything that was fucking holy, Steve never wanted to pull out. Wanted to ram his cock in that snug heat again and again and again; fill him up with everything he got.

“I’m gonna come in you,” Steve said like he was out of breath, “ _I’m gonna fucking come in you_ ,” and fuck, fuck _fuck_ – every time his heavy balls slapped against Bucky’s ass, a jolt ripped up through his spine, adding to the buildup pooling in his groin, making him feel harder—bigger inside Bucky.

Steve watched the plates of his shoulder move, the way his hands clenched and unclenched into firm fists where they rested on the small of his back, framing the two dimples just above his ass. The rope around his wrist was red and angry and there was a distant thought in Steve’s mind that he should unbind him, but instead he yanked Bucky up by the rope as he leaned back, pulling him deeper onto his cock and Bucky mewled like he was about to cry, his whole being trembling against Steve’s groin and then fuck, fuck, fuck fuck—

—he tensed, every muscle in his body going taut; in his legs and back and stomach and _around_ Steve who lost his goddamn mind in the renewed tightness and—

—and then he came, his dick pulsating so hard it hurt – it fucking hurt as he grinded his hips against Bucky’s ass, needing to come closer, deeper; fill him up as far as he could fucking come. The feeling of absolute freefall lasted for a moment where it felt like his heart wasn’t beating; where he saw nothing but the arched back of Bucky and his wild hair tousled over the white sheets; where he felt nothing but his dick shooting off in big, hot spurts that had him double over Bucky’s back, the blinding overstimulation slowing his hips until he rested heavy on top of him.

Steve shuddered and had to remember how to breathe.

He inhaled with a shake and breathed out just the same. Again and again and again until the black was gone from the corner of his vision. Until he could breathe without panting. Until he could move without the white static buzz ripping through every nerve in his body.

Beneath him, Bucky was unmoving. Steve felt the rise and fall of his back against his chest; saw the profile of his face and the way his nostrils flared by each breath coming out calmer than the next. His eyelashes fanned long over his cheeks and there wasn’t a hard line on his face, lips parted and red in the middle, like he had bitten his lips.

Steve slowly pushed himself up, one hand slipping beneath Bucky and the mattress, felt the wetness there and smiled so hard that he panted with it. He kissed Bucky’s shoulder as he wrapped a hand around his softening cock, humming into the flesh when Bucky bucked away—feeding his ass more onto Steve’s cock.

He pushed himself up completely and palmed Bucky’s ass, squeezing the flesh before he spread his cheeks and watched as his still-hard cock slid out all white streaked. His dick bounced up in the direction of his stomach when he pulled out, more spunk trickling out.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Steve grinned as he took his dick in hand and dragged the thick, pulpy head over Bucky’s balls, catching the cum leaking out of him and fucked it back in with a hard, full thrust that sent Bucky breathless and inch up the bed. “You think you got one more in you?” he asked, all husky.

Bucky shook his head like a freshly smacked bubblehead and he quivered beneath Steve, his hands two tight fists, the plates on his arm calibrating.

“I think you do.”

 

* * *

 

Thank God for a cold winter with a ton of snow; for eight hundred channels and nothing to watch; for no bad guy to come and fuck shit up. Thirteen months of pent up urges and the only one he wanted to turn open the valve finally did.

 

* * *

 

Yesterday, they had got rid of the bunnies. After a center spread in the Daily Bugle about the high pressure on the city’s humane societies, the article about them being fosters and the associating picture of them and their bunnies captured in their sparse living room, people had – to quote –  literally fallen onto their phones to adopt Pumpkin and Spice.

So today the hay was finally gone, Steve could vacuum without having to move the most ungainly cage into the bedroom and he wasn’t stalked the moment he opened the fridge. It was a type of freedom that was small, but still satisfying in its own way. Just like being able to open the front door without any of them escaping into the hallway was one minor heart attack he could do without.

Steve slipped inside, toed off his shoes and chucked off his jacket before he let his nose guide him.

Curry. Thyme. Ginger.

He peeked inside the kitchen and like clockwork for the last months, saw Bucky by the stove, stirring in what at least smelled like another culinary success. If he continued at this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the pizzeria down the street stopped seeing them as regulars.

“Hey,” Steve said as he walked up to Bucky, embracing him from behind in a big bear hug.

“Hi.”

“It smells amazing,” Steve mumbled as he nosed the crook of Bucky’s neck, breathing in the full of him and kissed the yellow mark on his neck from the morning. “ _You_ smell amazing.”

A wave of tension moved through Bucky’s shoulders, puffing them up. “I—I don’t feel so good...”

“I think I know something that’ll might make you feel better.” Steve rubbed his groin against Bucky’s ass, letting him know just how hard he was.

“Not tonight,” Bucky said and he sounded tired, pleading even, “we can… tomorrow.”

Steve regained himself and the first thought that passed through his mind was the same one that leapt off his tongue. “Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“No,” Bucky said, frowning in a way that didn’t completely sell his reply. “Just tired.”

Like he had been all week and the week before that. Lethargic almost, but Steve thought the new pill bottle that had appeared on Bucky’s bedside drawer was the culprit.

Steve moved to lean against the counter next to him and placed a hand on the small of Bucky’s back, enjoying something as simple as the warmth of him. He watched as Bucky stirred in the pot without ever looking up. The stew of what looked like squared tofu and veggies was bright yellow, like he had put in turmeric or saffron.

“Have you felt alone today?”

“A little.”

“Maybe next time we’ll get a three-legged dog.”

Bucky hummed and kept stirring.

It looked worse now, Bucky’s skin. When the air was colder and the days shorter, and after a dozen more skin scrapings and a year of the returning _maybe you have scabies_ joke, it just wasn’t funny anymore. Instead of the dry, ragged look and the occasional blister, it was now these big, open plaques of sores that even Steve thought twice about touching. Not because it looked disgusting, but because even the slightest gust of wind sent Bucky scratching and for as much as Steve loved touching him, dabbing his wounds and putting him in bandage wasn’t enjoyable.

“I think I’d like that,” Steve said easily, trying anything to get the conversation flowing. “But maybe you’d prefer a cat that can sleep on the couch with you.”

Bucky cracked a small smile that didn’t reach further than the tip of his nose. “Maybe,” he said as he slowly turned to look at Steve, that little expression of amusement disappearing the moment their gazes aligned. A dark, remorseful wrinkle appeared between his brows as he opened his mouth. “Sorry…” and his gaze fell like he was staring at the collar of Steve’s shirt, “… for being such a… bummer tonight.”

Something hard tugged on the heartstring in Steve’s chest, like someone was ringing the bell in a church tower over Bucky’s almost guilty look. How he looked genuinely concerned about them not getting naked together for the third time today.

“Don’t sweat about it,” Steve assured, a little baffled at the excuse. “We all have bad days.”

 

* * *

 

“Don’t you… don’t you get tired?”

“Tired? Of What?”

“Sex,” Bucky said simply.

Steve scoffed as he reached for the pack wet wipes on the bedside table, snatched two before he rolled back over to Bucky with the biggest post-sex grin ever. “How can I with someone like you?” Steve said as he balled up the wet wipes in his hand and neatly swabbed away the spunk from Bucky’s stomach.

When Steve looked up at his face, Bucky stared back at him; his mouth a flat, unamused line. He didn’t look sad or angry, but his face was that dangerous neutral where Steve didn’t know if he was actively dying on the inside or just tired.

Steve’s face lost that giddy look quicker than a robber left a bank. “Are you?”

“We… we do it… so—so often.”

“That’s what couples do?” Steve offered, smiling more for show as even he heard that nervous undertone.

Bucky broke eye contact and looked away, fooling Steve in such a way that he thought that was it – that today had been one time too much, that Bucky was sore and tired and grouchy like he always got after nine o’clock.

“It… it feels like a chore.”

Steve won the prize for most nervous laugh, his mouth temporarily disconnected from his brain as he said, “We could spice it up – you can fuck me, maybe try blindfolding?”

“No.”

“No?”

Bucky turned to look at him again and this time, he looked intent. “No sex.”

“No sex?”

“S-stop r… repeating wh-what I… I say.”

Steve pushed himself up one elbow, the frown rising as he did. “What are you saying?”

Something hardened on Bucky’s face. His lips shrunk as he pressed his lips together, that muscle in his cheek flexing as he bit down and it was something about that intense – almost hellbent – expression that sent Steve sweating. Now Bucky didn’t look tired, but annoyed. Frustrated, even.

“I… I do—do _n’t_ want to… have sex anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t… keep up.”

“What do you mean?”

“No sex,” Bucky repeated and this time, he didn’t sound so sure.

They had just fucked each other’s brains out and in that post sex bliss, Steve was slow to connect the dots. He wanted to scratch himself on the head, which he did. “No sex for how long?” he tried.

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

Steve blinked at him. Once, twice, thrice. “You’re not making much sense right now.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth dipped down, the line between his brow softened into something that looked undeniably sad as he looked at the muted TV on the far end of the room. As he looked at him, Steve could practically see the linguistic train choo-choo behind Bucky’s anxious eyes. He licked his lips, gulped down and looked Steve in the eye again.

“I don’t want sex…” he began in a way that speed up Steve’s heart for the wrong reason and the look he wore was one of shame, like it was embarrassing and awkward to talk about all at once, “...cause I—I can’t… I… thought I could... b… but I can’t… shut it out.”

In that moment, Steve forgot how to breathe. Everything that could ache in him, ached with the intensity of a thousand boiling suns. That was the _actual_ confirmation: wrapped up in cotton, but still there. It wasn’t all the pills that cranked down Bucky’s libido do a solid zero, but memories of—of being—

—fuck.

Every cell in Steve’s brain punched out and suddenly, all he saw was the yellowing marks on Bucky’s throat; the purple bruise around his wrist where the rope had chaffed during their morning coupling; the redness on his cheek after a corrective slap from not even fifteen minutes ago.

Steve’s stomach turned as the bigger picture dawned on him.

“I know… I know sex is… worth gold to you—”

“— _Bucky_ —”

“— but you… can see others,” Bucky sounded so normal when he said it. Unbothered, like he had thought about it for a while and bought his own lies.  

Steve let out a stunned breath as he sat up in the bed. “Wait— _wait_ a second,” he said, rougher than intended as he looked—glared down at Bucky and watched him nod.

Months of memories overwhelmed him, the vertigo tipping the world vertical as he imagined how hopeless it must have felt for Bucky when Steve pushed and pushed for sex, how he played off his excuses with arguments that only benefitted himself. If Bucky was tired, they had sex. If he was bored, they had sex. If he was sad, they had sex. If he didn’t feel like doing anything at all, they had sex.

Steve had been so gung ho about ramming his dick in Bucky that he hadn’t put all those scary what-if theories into words. Now it made sense that Bucky was never the one to welcome him home by opening the door nude and with his dick already hard; never be the one to reach out and touch first.

“What is it that you can’t shut out?”

Bucky looked at him and Steve could just tell that he wasn’t going to say anything, which itself said a lot.  

“I thought it was the meds that made you…” Steve made a helpless gesture before he ran a hand through his wild hair. It wasn’t an excuse, wasn’t even an explanation, but it was the truth. Sometimes Steve had spent hours on trying to get Bucky off with the hellbent intention to beat the drugs. Because Steve knew all the side effects, had even read every leaflet from the mountain of medication Bucky consumed every day.

It wasn’t that orgasming had become a one-sided affair between them, because it hadn’t. If Steve couldn’t get Bucky to come during their morning sessions, he double timed in the evenings, which in hindsight was fucked up – shameful even, that he could get off once or twice, get to work, squirt out another load or three when he got home and _then_ Bucky scored his first. He shouldn’t have tried harder – obviously – but he should have remembered that Bucky was just like him and half the shit he was eating wasn’t even meant for guys like them, no matter the quadruple doses.

“Was it something I did tonight?” Steve asked as he felt the blood rushing in his ears.

“Nono _no_ ,” Bucky said and then he was pushing himself up to from the bed, his cold hand engulfing Steve’s arm, “I knew… from the start.”

Again, Steve’s mouth spoke first. If his heart had shattered, it turned to dust now. “No,” he breathed because that was _worse_ , hearing him say it.

“Yes.”

It was disgusting and unforgivable and it was killing him to know that he must have repeatedly dusted off all those painful memories every time he pushed him down in their bed.

Steve buried his face in his hands and for a moment, the smell of sex in the room had never been more revolting. His stomach churned so hard that he could practically hear it alongside Bucky’s frantic heart.

“So for the last few months, you haven’t really wanted…” It was hard, talking about it. Suddenly, he understood why Bucky hadn’t said anything because how do you talk about something like this?

Bucky caressed the length of his arm and when Steve looked at him, he even smiled a little. “I wanted you… happy.”

“Fuck,” Steve swore because beneath all that disgust welling up like the bile in his throat, “why didn’t you tell me something?”

“I tried.”

“You tried what?”

“Saying no,” Bucky said and he sounded so mellow and meek like he didn’t blame Steve for anything at all. How much pain must you have gone through to reach this level of complete and utter self-sacrifice?  “You are… very insistent.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “So, for the last few months I have literally been _r_ —”

“—don’t, don’t call it… what the doctor calls it… because what we did… it’s not… like that.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, his shame magnified and engorged and it was fucking _disgusting_ what he had done. Overlooked Bucky’s need to satisfy his own. “You’ve talked to us about her?”

“Yeah. She…” Bucky looked frail, tired beyond words and Steve fucking hated the bruises on his neck and hips. “… want to… see you.”

It wasn’t like Steve had any kind of reference point of how it was supposed to be in a normal relationship. Maybe twice in the morning and thrice in the evening was an exaggeration of sorts. But sex was healthy, bonding and sure, they had already fallen into something of a habit regarding what they did when they got down and dirty, but it still felt amazing. Whenever they were together, it was about them. Not about what happened the day before or what would happen an hour later, but it was grounding in a way that peeled away all that excess from their lives.

Obviously, Steve was alone in his valuation of sex.

And it wasn’t the solitude in that assessment that bothered him as much as the burning knowledge that while he wanted it to go on forever, Bucky probably wanted the exact opposite. Steve’s heart ached to the point his whole chest felt tight as he sucked in one, small breath of air. He breathed out heavily.

“There’s nothing wrong with me that I can’t fix on my own,” Steve said.

He could stop, he could. If he quit everything, maybe this hunger in him would calm down and balance out, because maybe they had too much sex. Maybe he spent too much time thinking about when they got together and when he was going to have it, but at the same time, he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t like this.  

“Okay,” Bucky said and for an aimless moment, all they did was to look at each other. Steve wanted that red mark on Bucky’s cheek gone; never wanted to see that squeezed out tube of lube on their bedside table; wanted their sheets thrown in the laundry and reset, everything. Start fresh.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t like before, when he had gone those three hundred and sixty-something days without sex. Because back then, he had jerked off, watched porn, indulged in erotic literature, jerked off some more. Often in the morning, then again around lunchtime, when he got home from work and finally, one last time before he went to bed.

But this was something else. This was complete abstinence.

The first day was manageable. Mostly because he intentionally strayed from his routines to keep himself sane. He didn’t listen to the radio when he took his morning run, nor in the car ride to work; didn’t allow himself to check his personal email every hour as he often did to avoid all the fashion newsletters with the sparsely dressed models. He told the worst excuse when his secretary Laurisssa – the new one; thin as a twig with a shameless tendency to leave one button too low open on her shirt – asked if they would eat together in the lunchroom as they always did.

Hunger be dammed, Steve ate that bean lasagna cold on his office and later that day, when the feds haunted him for a meeting concerning national security, he welcomed the long, drawn-out negotiation he would have in a conference room without windows.

Steve got home late that night to a note on the counter telling him that the food was in the fridge. As the plate was spinning in the microwave, he peeked inside their bedroom to find Bucky snoozing like a puppy after a rough play day. In the faint light cast through the windows, his left arm gleamed unlike his skin and Steve could distinguish the wide sores on his neck and chest.

When they had worked out all the knots on their twine, they would go somewhere warm and not for a week or two, but for a whole month. Sam and Nat and perhaps even Tony if he asked nicely, could fill up for him, be the paper-pusher he was when the world wasn’t on the verge of collapse.

The microwave pinged in the kitchen and Steve carefully closed the door to their bedroom. He ate alone in the couch without the TV on, which perhaps defeated the purpose of actually eating in the couch, but it was better that way.

He put the dishes in the dishwasher, got the spare duvet from the hallway closet and undressed without paying any attention to the tent in his boxers.

The first day had been fine, until now when he didn’t have a car to drive or paper to read and sign or a meeting to attend to. It was when he laid down on the couch that he wished for a chastity belt, or at least something that would keep his hands above his waist.

He had to hang in there. It would be fine. His hunger for pleasure had only been magnified because he been a slave to keeping it fed and if he could just starve himself for a while, it would get better. It had to.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t as much of waking up as getting up the next day.

“Are you… okay?” Bucky asked during breakfast, the frown speaking for what the slowness of his words stole.

Steve flashed a smile and felt how wobbly it was. His act dropped with his shoulders. “Didn’t sleep so well last night.”

Bucky put down his glass of juice and leaned back against the chair, the blanket slid off his right shoulder, exposing the dip of his collarbone, the muscles of his throat and—fuck.

“You didn’t… you don’t have t–to… sleep on the sofa,” Bucky said and it sounded like a plea.  

“I know, I know,” Steve said quickly, sighing as he stared down his bowl of muesli. “I just need some space.”

For a long second, neither of them said anything, the tension coiling in the air between them and then Bucky said carefully, “Do you want to—”

“—no.” Steve inhaled a shaky breath and managed another, hollow smile as he looked up at Bucky. “I’m fine.”

 

* * *

 

It took Steve a canceled morning run, four cold showers, and another night of laying wide awake to realize that it was withdrawal symptoms. The day after that, everything ached, and Lord have mercy on his soul, because he thought about giving in. About what it meant. That there would have to be rules, strict ones at that and Bucky would have to make them, because that was the most important thing – that Bucky was aware and okay and not bothered by everything it meant about opening their relationship.

But then he thought about how utterly ridiculous it was, getting sick over not getting touched and how changing one bed for the other wouldn’t change things for the better.

 

* * *

 

After a week of not sleeping, not eating, of not really functioning like a human being, the headache disappeared. He stopped sweating rivers and in the end, perhaps it was fatigue that finally lulled him to sleep when he got home late for the eighth day in the row.

It wasn’t intentional and even though Steve didn’t technically want to see Bucky put on chapstick on those fantastic lips; walk through their apartment in nothing but a towel and his hair dripping; didn’t want to see him sit in that couch Steve had fucked him silly in more times than he could count, Steve didn’t want him to be alone.

It killed him to know that Bucky did his thing from nine in the morning to around four in the afternoon, but after that, he was on his own. Both Sam and Natasha were busy with their respective missions and it wasn’t like the humane society had dumped another homeless animal in their laps for whatever reason. Perhaps the article in the newspaper had cleared out all the cages or maybe they were just shitty fosters. Either way, Steve had never been so sure on wanting a pet as right now. Not because he wanted to walk a dog at five thirty in the morning or go through a three pack of lint rollers a week, but for Bucky.

This distance wasn’t tearing them apart, but it was emotionally draining. To have to refrain from touching, from letting his gazes linger, from getting too close and if he could, he would go through the withdrawal symptoms a thousand times over if that could relieve the pressure in his balls.

 

* * *

 

On day twenty-one, it started like this.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time here as of late.”

“Yeah.”

“Problems at home?”

Steve stopped writing. He looked up at Laurissa, looked at how her red lips were curved into a modest smile, matching the casual tone of her question. She had a big beauty mark beneath her lip, but not that Steve was staring at that with a cleavage like that. It was really about her eyes, Steve had concluded. Not that they were ugly or unsymmetrical, but vacant in a way so that his gaze often fell to her lips, which were in equal proportion to her physique. The red lipstick didn’t do her any favors, but her chest looked like the rack of a new mom.

Her smile gained a molecule in length and suddenly, the pale light from the desk lamp shadowed her face in a way that bullied away the innocence of her loose curls and cute bangs. She leaned in close from where she stood next to him, her thin fingers wrapping around his forearm as she got up on her toes, her warm breath brushing over his ear.

“It’s rude to stare,” she whispered as she looked him in the eye from under her long lashes; her voice creeping lower, “but I can let you have a peek.”

“I’m married,” Steve said between one breath and the next, his heart pounding like it was about to burst in his chest because what the _hell_ was she doing, acting like one of those stuck up bombshells in that horrible show about the law firm Bucky insisted on rewatching.

Laurissa fingered on the top button of her shirt, smiling like a shark. “I know,” she said as the button slipped free from its loop, revealing the pink lace of her bra and how could he _not_ stare when she was so close that Steve could practically feel the heat she emitted.

She leaned in the final inch and pressed her lips against his jaw like she was testing the waters: feather light and barely there and Steve couldn’t move, couldn’t tear away as she kissed his cheek, drawing closer until she was at the very corner of his mouth and _damn everything to hell_ —Steve should have seen this coming. Should have put one and one together when she always stood close enough for them to touch whenever she explained all the meetings she had booked in; should have realized that there was something more to the way she left her hand on his shoulder after a long squeeze whenever she waited for him to finish signing something; should have seen it for what it fucking was when she showed up in those ridiculous skirts without stockings in the middle of winter.  

But the true horror of it all was when she pressed her lips against his and that it felt good. The throaty little moan that she let out against his lips as she fumbled with the buttons of his pants, went straight to his dick. How her small, eager hands behaved in a way Bucky’s never did and Steve could tell how much she wanted it—needed it, like she could tell that he was dying to be touched and it wasn’t the right thing to fucking do, but he couldn’t for the life of him stop himself.

Her pushed her up against the edge of the desk, hiked up her skirt and yanked down her panties as zealously as she pulled his dick free from his uniform pants and _goddammit_ , her small, perfect fucking hands felt amazing around his dick, how she stroked him once from the root and all the way to the tip with a grip intensity perfect enough to make him see stars.

She lined him up and when he felt the wetness of her cunt against his dick, he was lost for it. Unlike Bucky, she wanted it and the sound of her gasp as he pushed inside was music to his ears. She raked her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head as she clung to him with a desperation Steve thought he would never relive again, and the warm clutch of her body spurred him like a painful whip and he fucked into her like he needed it to breathe, hard and unforgiving and desperate because that was what he fucking was and _yes yes yesyesyes_ —

—Steve thrust into her one last time, shuddering and moaning  because he was already coming, dick jerking so hard that it went black at the corners of his vision, highlighting her face in dark aura before him and it felt so fucking good that he could cry because why, why couldn’t it be like this with Bucky?

Steve shook in her embrace, his cheek so hot that he could only imagine how red his face was.

But the shame wasn’t worse than the timely awakening of his phone. It vibrated against his desk right by her bare thigh, the sound of it cutting through their labored breathing.  

> _Bucky B_ _  
> _ Dinner’s ready… plus dessert (apple pie)! :o :)  
>                                                              _19.44_

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face against the crook of her neck as he inhaled the smell of her sickly sweet perfume. She held him like he was the most precious thing in the world, stroking and petting his back and it shouldn’t feel so goddamn good, but it did.  

“I hope that wasn’t all you got,” she whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Bucky B_  
>  Since you aren’t coming home I’m guessing  
>  that the world is currently ending. Dinner’s  
>  in the fridge, first aid’s on the kitchen table,  
>  don’t bleed on the new carpet. Wake me if  
>  you need me.  
>                                                           01.23

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it. I plan on writing a sequel this spring, so if you'd be into that then subscribe to the series. But until then -- leave a kudos if you enjoyed and tell me in the comments how this fic made you feel! 
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://ohmymessiah.tumblr.com/).


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